


The Karsite Spy's Big Mistake

by Griselda_Gimpel



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Espionage, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: The greatest Herald-Mage in Valdemar’s history must face off against the worst spy from Karse.OR, the story of how Vanyel Ashkevron got stabbed in the back.(Set between Magic’s Pawn and Magic’s Promise.)
Relationships: Vanyel Ashkevron/OC
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	The Karsite Spy's Big Mistake

Lord Goldtouch ruled a region just south of the border with Valdemar. In his castle was a small room, with only one entrance and no windows facing the outside. It was not actually located in the dungeons, but it might have well have been. It was in this room that Lord Goldtouch’s Spymaster debriefed his charges.

The young man before him was Erik Goldtouch. Wrapped in a comfy bathrobe, he sat on a stool, with his feet propped up on a chair. He held a glass of hot chocolate in bandaged hands. The bandages continued up his arms to his elbows, and there were bandages on his feet, as well. He gave the Spymaster a look like a kicked puppy who should therefore be given a present. The Spymaster felt no sympathy.

Erik was, as the Spymaster could never afford to forget, Lord Goldtouch’s favorite nephew. The Spymaster had few criticisms of Lord Goldtouch, but his fondness for young Erik regularly tried the Spymaster’s patience – especially since the Spymaster was the one who had to deal with him. It was less than a day since the Spymaster had sent Eric off on his most recent mission, which meant that his returned marked a new record.

Erik Goldtouch thought being a spy was _romantic_. He had begged his uncle to go into the service, and when he had turned eighteen, his uncle had ordered the Spymaster train him. For two years, the Spymaster had complied. Or tried to. It wasn’t like Erik had attended much in his classes. He’d graduated, though. The Spymaster hadn’t dared fail him. For four years after that, the Spymaster had deftly kept Erik out of the field, relegating him to paperwork. It wasn’t a task Erik was very well suited for. If he didn’t charm someone else into doing his work for him, the Spymaster had to grit his teeth and correct it after it had been submitted. Still, it had been better than harm befalling a single hair on Erik’s head.

Then, nearly a year ago, Erik had wheedled Lord Goldtouch into authorizing him for field duty. There hadn’t been anything the Spymaster had been able to do about it, so here he was again, about to receive Erik’s cheerful report on how he’d bungled another mission. And himself, too, this time.

The problem – the thing that brought the Spymaster to the brink of despair – was that Erik wasn’t without his talents. He was fast on his feet and had quick reflexes. Like the Spymaster himself, he eschewed the official Karsite monotheism in favor of worshiping some other, minor deities in addition to the Great Sunlord; this was a boon when undercover in polytheistic Valdemar, as one would not be betrayed by reflective curses. He was handsome enough, and he possessed a tongue that could have charmed a dress off a celibate priestess. Not that Erik ever would, of course. Not a _priestess_.

“Tell me what happened,” the Spymaster began as Erik beamed up at him.

“Well, I crossed the border all right,” Erik said. “So then I was in that little town, you know the one?”

“Pretending to be a travelling peddler,” the Spymaster filled in. He’d devised the cover story himself.

“Right,” Erik said.

“Then continue.”

“So I stop by this inn, you know, for looks.”

“I see.”

“So I’m mingling – good for my cover and all – when I see _him_.” A blissful smile came to Eric’s face at the memory.

The Spymaster groaned audibly. He knew this song and dance well enough! There were many in Lord Goldtouch’s lands who would say – although not where any of Lord Goldtouch’s men could hear them, of course – that Erik Goldtouch’s biggest failing lay in what could so often be found between his legs. The Spymaster was inclined to feel that the real problem was what lay between his ears – or didn’t, as generally seemed to be the case.

Erik took a sip of his hot cocoa before continuing to speak. “So I’m clapping, singing along to the music, and I see Beautiful kind of, you know, looking at me.”

“Does Mr. Beautiful have a description?” the Spymaster prompted. Details, as he was forever telling Erik, were important.

“Oh, yes!” Erik sighed longingly. “Skin like ivory. Hair as dark as a raven’s wings. _Grey_ eyes! So I go up to him and tell him I think he’s beautiful. I’m hoping that the gods smile on me and he would be interested in me.”

The Spymaster winced. No one in Lord Goldtouch’s lands would have dreamed of laying a finger on the beloved nephew. But abroad? Under cover! Erik should have thought!

“That’s how your hands were injured?” the Spymaster asked.

“Oh, no,” Erik said. “He smiled and said, ‘Thank you for the kind compliment’. So he looks pretty wan – but still pretty – so I offer to sport him a meal. Wasn’t a great meal, mind you.”

“There is a war on,” the Spymaster reminded him.

“I don’t think a war’s a good excuse not to have fine food,” Erik remarked. “Anyway, he had a lute on him, so I’m thinking he was a minstrel. I tell him he should have someone pamper him, and we get to talking, and I suggest we go up to one of the rooms to, ah…”

“You don’t need to elaborate there,” the Spymaster said.

“You’re the one always telling me that details are important,” Erik protested.

“Continue with good taste,” the Spymaster instructed. “I want to know how your cover got blown. I personally saw to it that you were so bespelled that not even Vanyel Ashkevron himself could have made you for a spy.” The Spymaster spared no expense where Lord Goldtouch’s favorite nephew was concerned. There was a layer of spells to stop him from being read magically, a layer of spells to provide false feedback to any mage who attempted to read him, and a layer of spells to stop anyone from noticing that he had multiple layers of spells on him.

Erik flashed the Spymaster his most winsome smile, drawing the Spymaster out of his reflections. “About that…”

Horror hit the Spymaster like a flashflood. “It wasn’t!”

“How was I supposed to know what Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron looked like?” Erik protested. “I thought he had, I don’t know, like three heads and green skin or something. I wasn’t thinking he’d be beauty incarnate!”

The Spymaster ground his teeth at this, a bad habit he’d never been able to break. He knew damn well that the Herald-Mage’s description was in one of the reports – no doubt one that Erik had fostered off on one of his admires.

“And he saw through your disguise?” the Spymaster asked. That, at least, was good information. The mage team would have to step up their work.

“Well, no,” Erik admitted.

“No?” the Spymaster repeated, confused.

Erik shifted his grip, so he was holding his hot cocoa in one hand. With the other hand, he scratched the back of his head in an ‘Aw, shucks’ manner.

“I sort of kind of, um, told him.”

“Told him.”

“Yep.”

“That you were a Karsite spy.”

“Well, I didn’t _say_ I was from Karse.”

“You told Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron, Vanyel Demonlord, the Shadowmaster, the Villain of-“

“-of Stony Tor,” Erik finished.

“You told _that_ Vanyel Ashkevron that you were a spy?”

“Is there more than one Vanyel Ashkevron?”

“We must pray to the gods that there isn’t!” The Spymaster took a deep breath and failed to calm himself. “Why? Why, Erik, would you do such a thing??”

“I thought it would impress him,” Erik argued. “This was after we’d got up to the room. My clothes were off, as were his shirt and tunic, and I tell him I’m not really a peddler. That I work for some powerful individuals. That when Karse conquered Valdemar, I could give him an easy, happy life.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me if I knew who he was.”

“What did you say?”

“That he was the most beautiful man in the world.”

“And he told you his name?”

“Ayup.”

“How did you get away? How are you still alive?”

“Well, first I say, ‘Does this mean we aren’t going to take a tumble?’”

If there had been a wall within reach, the Spymaster would have proceeded to bang his head against it. Instead, he merely indicated for Erik to continue.

“Well, he says ‘No.’ but he kind of pouts when he says it. And let me tell you, that man has the most wonderful pout.”

“The fight, young Erik,” the Spymaster prompted. “How did you managed to win a fight against Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron?”

“Ah, that was easy. So I’d left my dagger on the chest that was the foot of the bed. When he told me who he was, I picked it up and threw it at him. Well, not at him, exactly. Just kind of in his general direction. As a distraction. It missed him, of course, but then it bounced off the wall and hit him in the back.”

“Is he dead?”

“I doubt it,” Erik said, “but I didn’t stick around to see. I jumped out the window – that’s how I injured my hands and arms, breaking the glass – and ran stark naked all the way back to here. Got in, got my robe and drink and all bandaged up, and then I came in here to report promptly, like you’re always saying.”

“The gods must smile upon you,” the Spymaster said. “I can think of no other reason that you’re still alive. Great stars above, man, do you know what he could have done to you??”

“Oh, _yes_!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Oh, well,” Erik said. “You only live once, you know. I figure it’s worth it to have gotten to see him half naked. Put in a good word with me with my uncle, will you?”

“I will endeavor to do my best,” the Spymaster responded dryly. He left to report to Lord Goldtouch. If he told his Lordship that Erik had wounded the great Vanyel Ashkevron, Erik’s minor injuries might go unremarked upon. Really, the Spymaster reasoned as he walked, this was only the third worst mission Erik had returned from.

**Author's Note:**

> Vanyel remembers events as that time that evil Karsite spy tried to seduce him in order to kill him. It’s a very upsetting memory for him.


End file.
